We
by Shinigami Yumi
Summary: Shito introspection, hidden scenes, Chika/Shito. "I've been a puppet for so long that it's too easy to forget that I can disobey, that I have choices when I'm away from them."


**Title:** We  
**Pairing:** Shito/Chika  
**Time:** Approximately 1 hour, so please throw me your nitpicks and concrit  
**Word count:** 1764  
**Warnings:** Un-beta-ed. Yaoi. Maybe some spoilers. References I'm ashamed I know to make. Possible OOCness because I tried to make it IC, but I can't tell if it worked.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Zombie-Loan. If I made money from this, no one would complain about my work ethic, so obviously, I don't.

* * *

**We**

When I got into that accident, the last thing I wanted or expected was to end up in high school. I was at the appropriate age physically, but I'd been alive for a hundred and fifty years, and it's hardly a pursuit one volunteers for unless one believes certain works of fiction. I watched as these people reformed their nation, sold them contraband and information when they occupied my homeland and flipped channels as they publicly denied their infamous war crimes. The last thing I needed was to wind up in their twisted excuse for an education system. Even if it was just a cover, it didn't mean I didn't need to really attend class; just because I knew everything didn't mean I didn't have to do homework and take exams; even if it was a metaphysical shithole, it didn't mean the days were any less boring. Worst of all, just being in the first class didn't mean I spent any less time with that piece of trash in the last one.

Of all the people to be stuck with indefinitely. We hated each other almost on sight and couldn't even avoid one another because our predicament necessitated proximity. First, we didn't communicate, let alone cooperate, which didn't last very long since it was counterproductive. Then, we fought everyday, often more than once, but that was tiresome, and we soon ran out insults to throw, since we didn't know much about each other. So we settled into a truce and picked fights off the job, and to my horror, I actually started to even enjoy it. For once, I was away from the Xu Fu and all their bureaucratic revolting nefariousness, away from _him_. Even routine school life, the decrepit dormitory, the endless cycle of pursuit and battle, even Akatsuki was better than _him_. Even the idiot's naïveté was refreshing when it wasn't annoying.

I realized the relief and false sense of freedom was starting to get to me when I found him in my room after that childhood friend of his supposedly died, some kind of soda spilling onto my once pristine sheets that were now covered in pieces and crumbs of potato crisps. I almost literally felt the vein in my temple popping as I stormed over to haul him out the door only to find that I didn't mind as much as I thought I did. If I threw him out now, it would be harder to physically force him to clean his mess up in the morning. Instead, I just hit him for the audacity to feign sleep and sat by his side. He seemed surprised that I let him stay, but he never liked being alone with his negativity, so we didn't talk about it.

The significance of what people called each other was mostly lost on me. After all, we were more coworkers than friends, so what did it matter whether we called each other by first name or last name? It was simply a point of reference, and I mostly just resisted because it gave me the satisfaction of annoying him. So when he insisted I call him by his first name before he let me pull him up, I indulged his foolish sentimentality in favour of practicality. And then I shot him for making me. It was a slippery slope, I realized as I found myself gradually agreeing to more of his stupid ideas afterwards, and I'll never tell him how grateful I am that he knows when to stop. I've been a puppet for so long that it's too easy to forget that I can disobey, that I have choices when I'm away from _them_.

It was some days after that battle when I woke up after a welcoming party I couldn't remember half of, leaping out of bed in horror to find him asleep entirely too close beside me. "A-Akatsuki! What the hell are you doing here?"

He scowled at me as he sat up. "Oh, we're back to last name basis again? You're such a bastard, Shito. Sheesh, why did I even do that last night?"

Grabbing him by the collar of his pyjama shirt, I managed to keep my voice from a shrieking pitch as I demanded, "What did you do to me last night?"

He shoved me away so roughly that I lost my balance and stumbled into the corner by the window. "What do you think I did, idiot? You were asking to kiss everyone last night! I just dragged you back here before you did something I'd have to deal with you emo-ing over later. And then you collapsed on top of me, so I couldn't get out of here myself, you ass."

I looked away, remaining silent as he finished his tirade, since I wasn't about to thank him or apologize, and protesting that I do not emo would have simply been childish.

He didn't expect anything anyway, and it's a long time before he spoke again, gazing out of the window. "Why did you lie to us?" There's nothing in his voice, no anger, no disappointment, no blame.

"Everyone has secrets," I replied evasively, unsurprised that he'd been told.

"We were going to find out eventually when they came for you."

"Yes."

"You don't care, do you?"

"That you know? No."

"You're an asshole, partner."

He left the room without another word, and I don't know why I'm glad knowing doesn't change him, doesn't change us.

Weeks later, when the fiasco with A-Loan and his second confrontation with Shiba are over, I'm not surprised to find him in my room again. This time, he doesn't make a mess, for which I'm thankful. I sit beside him on the bed and continue toweling my hair dry. You'd think we'd be cold, since we are, after all, dead, but his lips are warm when they touch my neck lightly, and when his arms pull me closer to him, for once, I don't need a thermometer to know that I am too. When searching fingers slip under my clothes, I brace myself for the pain I know is coming. Only it never comes, instead a hot breath on my neck and a pleasure I haven't felt in a long time take its place.

I hate his control over me as I gasp and think to resist as I slide a hand up his thigh, but the needy moan that elicits makes me wonder if he's ever been in control at all. His lips trail up to my jaw, stopping just at the corner of my lips; I don't kiss him, and he doesn't press for it, only molding his body more closely to mine in a need for contact. His arms are only tight enough to convey desire, and I realize, as always, that I have a choice here, that he's giving me one even if he expects me to refuse just because we've always hated each other. It's enough to make me turn and press him into the mattress, the towel slipping off the bed as I leave a mark on his collarbone with my mouth.

He calls my name breathlessly; it's more intimate than even her voice all those years ago as she lay dying in my arms, and I don't look him in the eyes because I don't want any reasons or assurances. Our lives are complicated enough as they are. The droplets of water falling from my hair glisten with the sheen of perspiration on his chest as we practically tear each other's clothes off, and I note that his skin is only slightly less pale than my own and equally easy to inflame. I shiver as he asks for his hand back, muttering something typically crass about how we've just made touching ourselves three times dirtier, and I bury my face in his chest as he arches against me, leaving red marks everywhere with my lips and teeth as I slide my finger into him. He winces even though it's slick with lotion but quickly relaxes. His fingernails draw blood as they claw at my back, and his moans are almost a sob when I press into a certain spot.

He clings to me desperately as I fuck him, first with one finger then several, and wraps his legs tightly around my waist when, unable to wait any longer, I finally bury myself in his heat. It's been too long, I think, as we move together; I don't remember when I last wanted this, when it wasn't almost a purest of pain. The ecstasy takes me by surprise when it comes, and I sink my teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming, but he does, uncaring about privacy or propriety, and the salty metallic taste of his blood in my mouth reminds me of our nature, makes me want him all the more in a way that's even more base, more defiled, more cruel.

Chika swears and pulls me up to kiss me at last before I can warn him to get away, but anything I had to say dies where it was forming in my mind as the taste of blood mingles with something else; God, he tastes so alive, it's ironic, and I want it, only not to destroy it anymore. When we pull apart, there's a trail of saliva between us, and I think it looks more debauched than anything else we've shared in our abandon. He's grinning like the idiot he is, and it's not victorious, only happily sated, as we roll over to lie on our sides.

"Don't go back to them."

I turn my back to him and close my eyes. Just like how he'd told Michiru to leave if she didn't like her relatives' home, to fly out of there, he makes everything sound so simple, and I tell him as much.

His arm slips under my waist so we can switch back before we sleep. "It's not impossible," he says. "Once we buy back our lives, his exorcism magic won't work on us anymore, and then you'll be free." The arm wraps around me in an embrace, and he moves closer. "You know how far their reach extends, don't you? We can just fly outside their territory and stay out of the cities where they might have friends."

I don't correct his pronoun usage, and when he starts combing his fingers through my hair, like she did, I almost believe him.


End file.
